


Chasing Horizons

by VampireBarbie18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireBarbie18/pseuds/VampireBarbie18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian is taken in by a girl named Lucy, who saves his life when he tries to kill himself after being defeated by his two biggest enemies. He will have to learn how to live for something other than revenge, and protecting Lucy from her past will show him that there are  more important things in life. Picks up in the future, presumably after season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s failed again. It’s been three days since both of his enemies chewed him up and spit him back out, leaving him an outcast with nowhere to stay in this awful, heartless world. Milah is probably rolling in her watery grave, forever disappointed by the man who could not save her. The sheriff is no longer understanding of his case…not after he took her son hostage. A stupid mistake he’d made in his desperation upon finding out that Rumpelstiltskin’s son was the boy’s father. If he’d kept his head, he might have recognized the dark eyes of the man who was once the boy he’d fought many times over the years. He’d returned with Emma and Hook had written him off as nothing but an ignorant outsider.

 

A stupid mistake.

 

It had been as if no time had passed at all, fighting with the agility of practice. He couldn’t fly here, but somehow, he didn’t need to. The man could climb and scale as if gravity weren’t an issue. And what had come out of fighting Milah’s husband and son? He’d lost his hook, his ship and any hope of building a new life for himself. Revenge, it seemed, was easier said than done. And Emma had been right. She’d told him that you fight and you fight and if you win, all you’ve done is hurt someone else. And if you lose, all you’ve done is hurt someone. So, do you really win? Does anyone?

 

In the end, Milah is still dead and Killian is still alone. Nothing changes.

 

And he doesn’t want to live this way anymore. He’s tired of being angry. He’s tired of fighting. So, he manages to scrape up enough money to buy him a bottle of rum, ignoring the hateful stares of the shoppers in the store as he pulls his filthy coat tighter around him and heads for the only place that makes any sense to him.

 

The marina.

 

He considers stealing a boat and running off to explore the corners of this world, but he’s lost the desire to explore. The only thing that sounds halfway appealing is getting piss drunk and blacking out until he forgets what a sham his miserable life has become. He climbs into the first boat he sees, a simple sailboat named ‘ _Calypso’._ Rolling his eyes, he sinks onto the cushion, taking a long swig of his rum and staring into the black abyss of the water. T

 

The sea is a fascinating entity. Sometimes calm, sometimes vengeful. It can both be beautiful and terrifying…sometimes together. Many a night he’d spent lying on the Jolly Roger with Milah in his arms, letting the waves lull them into a gentle slumber after a raucous round of lovemaking. He thinks of her face, olive skin framed by dark hair and light, light eyes. He remembers the way she used to ask him to tell her a story every night.

 

He remembers after she was gone and he was in Neverland, seeing that boy staring at him with her face. The only thing he hadn’t inherited is her eyes. The impish smile and the impossible mop of dark hair…it made Killian _hate_ that child for looking so like her. There was that same yearning for adventure in his eyes…a yearning that Killian had wanted to squash, because all that boy had been was a reminder of what he and Milah couldn’t have together.

 

Now, that boy has a boy of his own, and Killian hates the shame he feels for all he’s done to that boy and all of those lost boys in Neverland. He hates that he’s no longer cold and unfeeling. That seeing the love Milah’s son had for his own child hurt him more than any sword or spell ever could. Seeing his love for Emma…a reminder of what he couldn’t have; could never _deserve._

 

And suddenly, he’s looking into the inky water, thinking about letting himself sink to the bottom while the world slowly fades away…along with his agony. His bottle is empty.

 

He’s alone.

 

 

Lucy Morgan is on her way home from the animal shelter after closing, pulling her wool coat tightly against her body and blinking up at the dark sky. It’s going to snow, she can smell it in the air. She’s always been keen with weather. She knows that she should get home quickly, before it starts, but as always, she takes the long way so that she can drive by the marina and stare at the water. She’s been doing this as long as she can remember, even before the curse was broken and she was still terrorized by false memories of the hideous accident that took her mother from her.

 

Now she knows that’s a false memory, but it’s no less terrifying because now she has two memories of her mother’s death, and she can’t decide which is worse. So, she chooses not to decide at all, instead focusing on just being Lucy Morgan since she failed at being her true self anyway. Lucy can’t bring herself to go to her father, even though she knows he’s looking for her. Not when he’s still living with that… _monster_. It makes her angrier than anything, even though Lucy knows he doesn’t know who Octavia really is. And there’s nothing she can do about this, because she can’t _tell_ him. So, she stays away, keeps to herself and hides behind the nuns who took her in.

 

She parks near the docks, looking out at the flashing lights from the lighthouse and tries to remember when she was very young and the sea didn’t frighten her. She tries to recall when the very thought of being in it wasn’t the subject of her nightmares, new and old. She sees a girl, sitting on a rock and wishing for things she couldn’t have. She sees a _stupid_ girl, who fell in love with a prince and paid dearly for it…is _still_ paying for it.

 

She sees a man jumping into the icy cold water.

 

Before she’s thought better of it, Lucy is out of her car, running after him, wishing he could hear her voiceless cries. She hesitates only for a moment, looking down into the water. When he doesn’t resurface immediately, she removes her coat with trembling fingers and holds her breath as she jumps into the frigid sea, ignoring every instinct screaming at her and swimming as fast as her legs will allow. She sees him, lingering near the bottom of the shallow marina and grabs the sleeve of his coat, dragging him upward, struggling to get them both above water.

 

Mercifully, there is a security guard on duty, who heard the commotion and sees them surface and helps her by pulling the man out of the water and giving her a hand. Lucy ignores her chattering teeth as she brushes the older security guard out of the way and pushes her long braid off her shoulder, feeling for a pulse. The man is not breathing. She holds his nose and breathes into his mouth, before pushing on his chest as she’s been trained to do in first aid. It doesn’t take but two tries for the man to cough up water and open his eyes, which are a piercing devil’s blue. He mumbles something that sounds like a woman’s name, but she can’t be sure. One thing that she is sure of, however, is that he is drunk. The smell of alcohol on his lips, paired with the odor of a man who hasn’t bathed in weeks, is overwhelming. She nods her thanks to the security guard and, with his help, puts the man into the front seat of her car before grabbing her discarded coat and finding some comfort in its dry warmth.

 

A feeling of triumph comes over her as she pulls away from the marina with the sleeping man she saved. She’s overcome her fear of being _in_ the water…if only she could find it in herself to be less afraid of _what’s_ in it. The drive to her small apartment is short and she’s able to get the man on his feet long enough to walk him inside and into the elevator. He’s still muttering nonsense about ‘Milah’ and ‘Pan’, but at least he seems like he’s had little to no brain damage.

 

He collapses onto the sofa, effectively soaking it with cold sea water, but she quickly sees about removing his wet clothing and fetching some towels to dry him and herself. Lucy knows that she’s supposed to be modest and worry about decency with men, having been raised by nuns and training to become one herself, but the other side of her – the true side – doesn’t even blink as she strips the heavy, foreign clothing off of the man and dumping it into a pile near the door, along with her own wet clothing, dragging on her bathrobe. She has nothing to offer him, in terms of clothing, so she settles for draping a fleece blanket over him and leaving him to sleep it off while she showers.

 

Her hair is matted with salt and seaweed and is rough to the touch as she removes her braid, letting it fall in wet, unruly red waves to her waist. For a moment, she can almost remember who she used to be, but pushes it out of her mind as she steps under the hot, welcoming spray of her shower. She recognizes the stranger, he’s been in Storybrooke long enough for her to know who he is and what he’s done, but she recognizes him from before. From back home. She’d seen his ship from time to time…had been warned by her father to _stay_ away. It had, in fact, been a ship like his where she’d first seen the prince she’d saved. And loved. And lost.

 

She hasn’t thought of him in a very long time, that prince, but she still sees his face every time she closes her eyes. Sees that dark, black hair and those sky blue eyes…not unlike the man she just saved from drowning tonight. The irony is sickening. It’s as if fate is tormenting her, trying to make her relive her past and face her demons for its own sick pleasure. It’s bad enough, seeing her father’s face in town, just friendly Ted Morgan who owns the aquarium and is married to beautiful Octavia…the woman he left Lucy’s mother for.

 

But Lucy remembers the truth. Her mother has been dead since she was three. There was no boating accident. Ted never left Rose Morgan for Octavia. She isn’t suffering from any Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No amount of therapy is ever going to make her voice come back. She’s not a nun. She’s not even human. Maybe it’s why the fairies are so welcoming to her. She’s a princess, but there was no happy ending for her. True love did not conquer all, because her prince didn’t choose her…and his choice cost him his life. It was all very sad, really, because even though the betrayal of his choice still stings and makes her heart ache…she’s even more heartbroken that he’s gone. Because, she _still_ loves him.

 

She misses home. She misses her sisters, and music and her friends. She misses _singing,_ maybe most of all. She wants her father back, and she wants to find some shred of happiness in this new life. Working at the animal shelter makes her happy. Helping people makes her happy. But she is not happy. She’s alone, and she’s a coward with no purpose in life other than to hide.

 

She remembers a girl who was adventurous to a fault, disobeying her father and sneaking out of her bed at night to go exploring. She thinks of the days when she could find joy in something as simple as a twisted old fork. Her story has been told multiple ways by multiple people, but it never ends the same. Some versions have happy endings…some are tragic. But the point is, they’re all different, because her story never _ended._ Lucy is still living it, and trying to decide whether she’s better off this way…or if Ariel is still within her.

 

Either way, she’s just a lost little mermaid.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

He wonders for a moment if he’s somehow made it into Heaven when his eyes open, because light is streaming into the room he’s lying in. As his vision slowly corrects itself, he allows himself to take in his surroundings and realizes he’s neither dead nor in any form of Heaven. At best he’s in somebody’s very modest home. The walls are practically bare, save for a gold cross of some sort and a few sparse paintings of flowers and other nonsensical things.

 

He bolts up, ignoring the blatant pounding in his forehead and tries to stand. The strange, soft fabric covering his body tumbles to the ground leaving him completely and utterly bare. He tries to remember what happened last night, but all he can gather are a few muddy memories of freezing cold water and a flash of brilliant red hair.

 

He’s almost grateful he woke alone on that strangely upholstered lounge. Not that he was ever against a lie down with a beautiful woman…it was only that it was never his intention to embarrass himself by being so drunk he didn’t remember the bloody encounter. Nevermind the fact that it wasn’t Milah lying beneath him when these so-called encounters occurred.

 

Bloody Hell.

 

Never one for modesty, Killian does not even bother to cover his lower half as a young woman walks into the room wearing some horrid blue and white getup involving a shapeless blue cover and a white collar. A shock of auburn hair is braided neatly and pinned at the base of her neck, proving to be yet another waste of clear potential. He’d always admired women with red hair, but he’d never seen one quite like this. Her skin is almost luminescent, though admittedly pale. It’s the eyes though, that draw his eye. They are the color of the sea; neither quite blue nor quite green. At a distance, one would think they were blue, certainly, but in this proximity, the detail is apparent.

 

And at the moment, they’re wide with surprise and slight horror as she gapes, silently, at him standing naked in her living quarters. It almost makes him smirk, but he’s too irritated with the fact that his suicide attempt has been foiled and he now has a devil of a headache thanks to his over consumption of rum last eve.

 

She seems to gather her wits, and swallows, straightening her hideous pleated skirt, pointing her finger at the counter nearby. Sitting on it is a pile of what appears to be men’s clothing, though Killian can honestly say he recognizes neither fabric, but the awful plaid of the shirt has never been in his taste. Sometimes, in the north, the people had a sick preference for tartan, but that was never his choice.

 

He stares blankly at the foreign clothing as she brushes past him, careful not to touch him in any way as she moves to what appears to be some kind of cooking apparatus. She opens a strange white cabinet and starts retrieving food from it, placing it all in a neat row on the counter. He watches, fascinated, as she turns a black knob on the odd stove and the fire starts itself. He almost expects her to start humming to herself as she spoons butter into a black frying pan and cracks eggs into a glass bowl, but she doesn’t.

 

He realizes he hasn’t heard her voice and they’ve been in each other’s presence for nearly ten whole minutes. He takes the opportunity while her back is turned to attempt to put on the hideous clothing she’s provided for him. They fit, though the pants are a little tighter than he’d anticipated. The shoes are not like any he’s ever seen. They’re the color of wet sand with soft soles and fur interior. Everything is brand new, which means the girl must have bought this for him while he was asleep.

 

But why?

 

What motivation could this red haired stranger have for saving him? Everyone in the town knew who he was by now. They’d all witnessed his ill planned confrontation with Rumpelstiltskin and Pan. They’d all seen him make a fool of himself as a revenge starved idiot. They all wanted him locked up or, he was sure, dead. He probably would have been if not for the Swan girl and her son. Even Pan had surprised him and took up for his defense stating that no one was to cause him harm.

  
Fat lot of good it did.

 

No one will have anything to do with it and Killian almost wonders if it would have been better if they’d just let them kill him. Of course, he _had_ helped them apprehend Cora, so there was that in his favor. He hated owing people more than anything. And now, he owed this girl his life…which was rather inconvenient to his agenda which involved once again getting piss drunk and figuring out what to do with the rest of his miserable existence.

 

“Why did you do it, love? Why did you save me?” He asks the girl as she’s spooning food onto a plate for him. She glances up at him with those infuriating seafoam blue eyes, her eyebrow quirked. Her lips twitch as though she has some quick fire response for him, but she doesn’t open her mouth. Instead, she just turns back to that odd white cupboard and withdraws a carton of what says ‘Orange Juice’. She points at his food, shaking her head at him before she returns to cooking.

 

He stares slack jawed, at that meticulous red plaited coil at her nape. There is not one fiery strand out of place. It irritates him endlessly, because he’s never seen hair quite that shade of red and he wants to see what it looks like hanging around her pale, slender shoulders.

 

Holy hell it’s been a long time since he’s bedded a woman. And he highly doubts this quiet, buttoned up creature has ever even seen herself uncovered, much less a man. It’s a perfect challenge…one he would have gladly taken on in his younger years. But something in her haunted, innocent face makes him want to leave her alone before he ruins her by association.  This child can barely be older than sixteen years at most and he doesn’t make it a habit to deflower children.

 

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” He tries again, spearing a piece of egg with his fork and tasting it. It’s delicious in a completely new, simple way. Unlike anything he’s ever eaten back home. Again, she glances at him over her shoulder in a way that is completely unnerving, as if she’s staring straight through to his soul, baring his many sins. Her eyes are full of words that she isn’t voicing and it’s making him shift uncomfortably. “What’s your name, Lovely?” He sees her smirk to herself, taking a quick huffy little breath as she turns off her stove and fills her own plate, joining him at the counter. And still, she doesn’t answer.

 

She’s _toying_ with him.

 

Nobody toys with Killian Jones and gets away with it. Not even auburn haired sirens like this chit! When she smiles to herself again, a very distant prick of recognition prickles at the periphery of his consciousness, blurry, but present. He cannot place her though. She sees his anger and takes pity on him, holding up a finger to placate him, before moving to her white food pantry and removing a pad of paper from it. She quickly scrawls a note onto it.

 

_‘I can’t speak aloud. I am not ignoring you.’_

He doesn’t know why, but the tension immediately evacuates and he’s almost tired, leaning against the tile counter for support as he tries to lift his fork with his trembling hands thanks to his self-inflicted dehydration. 

 

“Why did you save me?” He asks weakly, feeling his stomach roil as his body finally gives in to the sickness that comes with being intoxicated.

 

_‘Because it was not your time to die, and you were in no condition to make that decision for yourself. I figured I’d let you wait until you weren’t drunk and think it over.’_

 

Her lips are quirked in a half grin, mischief playing in her ocean eyes. A glass of water is thrust into his shaking hand. She points vehemently at it, mouthing ‘Drink.’ He does, gratefully, finishing the glass in one go. She smiles, satisfied, as she takes the glass and wordlessly, refills it and hands it back again. She then pulls a white bottle from the cupboard over the sink.

 

_B12._

She pulls out a tablet and sets it in front of him, miming that he’s supposed to swallow it with water. Skeptically he stares at her before looking at the strange tablet.

 

“No way in hell, lass,” he refuses, shoving it away. She makes some noise at the back of her throat, rolling her eyes as she turns back to her blasted note pad.

 

_‘It’s a vitamin. It will help with your weakness. Take it.’_

“How do I know you aren’t some vigilante out to kill me for the troubles I’ve caused?” He challenges. Once more, she raises an eyebrow at him, half smirking as she sighs.

 

_‘With all due respect Captain, I have better things to do with my time than poison defeated pirates.’_

She stares at him expectantly, nodding back to the pill, pushing it back toward him with her small hand. Glaring at her, he angrily swallows the tablet and nearly chokes as he takes a swig of water. She makes an amused face, laughing soundlessly. It sobers him, leaving him somehow empty. He wants to hear that laugh. Resting his head on his chin, he watches her clear the dishes, frowning at his half full plate.

 

“What is your name?” He asks again, when she returns to the counter. She tilts her head, giving him a contemplative look as if she’s struggling with herself, but she nods to herself a moment later, writing on the pad.

 

_Lucy Morgan._

 

“That’s your name?” He asks dryly, narrowing his eyes at her. The sudden blush on her porcelain cheeks reveals her lie. He’s heard briefly about the nature of the curse giving the residents here two separate identities paired with two separate sets of memories. She bites her bottom lip, turning her face toward the door as if she’s thinking seriously about fleeing his question.

 

“What is your _real_ true name, love?” He presses, unsure of why he wants to know her. It’s hard to explain, but ‘Lucy’ doesn’t seem a name befitting someone like her. She’s dressed like the infuriating fairies dress here, but he can tell she’s no fairy. And there’s her face and that glorious hair…too brilliant to be wasted tossing fairy dust to and fro. He remembers her face…perhaps from another life, and it doesn’t seem right that her hair should be bound off her neck and confined to the metal prison of pins. Killian has always hated hairpins. Milah knew this and she made sure to wear her hair down for him.

 

_‘Lucy Morgan is my only name.’_ She tells him, keeping her jaw set as she begins to write again, _‘As Hook is yours now.’_ He’s taken aback by this, because it’s proof that they’ve met somehow. Somewhere. _‘I wasn’t sure what size shoe you wear, so I bought you a pair of slippers until I can take you to the store. I have to go out. I am training to be a nun, so I must go. We’re distributing canned food to the poor today and then I have to go to the animal shelter.’_

“How do you know me?” He demands suspiciously, gazing icily at her. She doesn’t even flinch.

 

_‘We both belonged to the sea once. We met when I was little more than a child.’_

Cold memory washed over him as he recalled an auburn haired head surface from the waves after they’d heard the singing. A bad omen Smee swore. The sirens’ song had led many a sailor to their deaths. Killian’s father had always warned him against the mermaids. Of course, that had been a time when he’d sworn to himself that he’d never end up like his father, but that was a different matter entirely.

 

“You’re a bloody mermaid, aren’t you?” Killian murmurs, staring at her. Instantly, the fire is gone from her eyes and they’re glistening dangerously. “One of Triton’s offspring?” She glares at him, blinking furiously. He watches one lonely tear slide down the gentle slope of her lovely cheek. He can’t help himself from reaching across the counter and catching it on his finger just before it reaches her chin. Her eyes widen with fear as something he can’t quite make out flashes before his eyes. All he can see is a flash of light and a man falling to the ground. He pulls his hand back as if he’s received a shock, stumbling backwards. Her eyebrows furrow at him, obviously confused as to why he’s reacting so violently. He brushes it off, and shakes his head.

 

“Sorry, love,” He mutters, “must be residual intoxication.” Though the thought of rum or any spirits makes him physically ill. “I should go.” He starts toward the door, intent of leaving her alone, but she shakes her head vigorously at him, scrawling on her pad.

 

_‘Triton was my father. I’m the seventh.’_

“Ah,” He acknowledges, reaching again for the door. “Well, I’ll be going,” he affirms again, though he makes no move to leave. Her eyes bore imploringly into his. He didn’t need a note pad to see the plea in those aquamarine orbs. They screamed for companionship, even if the stubborn lass was too thick headed to admit to it.

 

“Damn,” He hisses, gesturing in defeat. “What will you have me do, girl? Cook? Clean? Darn socks?” She smiles slightly as she looks down at the notepad.

 

_‘Well you would look quite fetching in a bonnet and apron, Captain.’_ He gives her an incredulous look. The pretty little minx has a wicked sense of humor, which pleasantly surprises him. _‘What is your opinion of animals?’_

“In terms of what? Food or companionship?” He asks, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands into the pockets of the rough, ugly fabric of his pants.

 

_‘Either.’_ She answers, grinning wryly at him.

 

“I prefer them to people,” He confesses, “I always have.” This elicits a glowing smile from her as she nods. It sends an uncomfortable thrill through his body right down to his toes.

 

_‘I have just the solution.’_ Handing him a coat that she’s procured for him as well, she points to his discarded boots and motions for him to follow him.

 

“What have I gotten myself into with you, siren?” He mumbles, looking down at her proffered hand, sighing. Her eyebrow raises, and her smile widens. Reluctantly he takes her hand and nearly cries out.

 

_“I’m wondering the same thing.”_ He hears her say. But she never opens her mouth. There was no sound. But he heard her. _“I think he’s going to be ill!”_

“I’m not going to be ill!” He insists, staring at her in disbelief. “Your bloody poison did the trick.”

 

_“You can hear me?”_ She asks, again never speaking aloud as she drops his hand. It falls silent between them again and her face falls in disappointment. Frowning, he takes her hand again, and it happens once more. _‘…must have been my imagination. Be realistic, Ariel.’_

“Ariel,” He echoes, watching her eyes slowly lift from the floor to meet his, full of hope and wonder and complete terror. “I can _hear_ you.” Her face crumples and she buries her faces into her free hand, quietly sniffing. He’s frozen for a long moment, staring longingly at the door and wondering how terrible it would be for him to escape this uncomfortably lovely moment. In some odd way, he realizes he doesn’t want to. This is the most he’s felt in ages…the emptiness almost feels like it’s fading for once. The wounds of Milah’s absence almost seem less vicious for a fleeting second as her eyes bore into his, wet with tears. And her response to his revelation is crystal clear as her hand tightens around his.

 

_“Finally.”_

 


	3. Chapter 3

Before Lucy can try to say anything else to him, he's pulled away as if scalded, giving her a baleful glare. If she wasn't still so exhilarated from all of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she might have found the will to roll her eyes at him. Instead, she can only beam at him, feeling so utterly… _relieved_ …that she can barely stand on two legs. It almost makes her think that maybe this curse can be broken, even though she lost the deal. It almost makes her feel like the possibility of normalcy isn't so far out of her reach. It almost makes her wonder if maybe there could be someone out there – perhaps in this town, perhaps not – who could love her. Almost.

But Lucy knows that her chance is gone. It died when Eric didn't choose her. And that's okay. She's accepted it.

Nodding toward the door, she flips the light switch and gestures for him to follow her out of the apartment, turning so he can't see the glitter in her eyes. It's an uneasy silence, settling between the two of them as they walk down a short set of stairs and out to her shabby little car. It's unseasonably warm today, snow turning to rain and turning the white covering the ground to unsightly grayish mush.

"Where are you taking me?" His voice comes, breaking the quiet as they round the corner onto the main street. Without a word, she point to a sign. "Pet shelter? What is that?" Feeling rather surly at the moment, she merely shrugs, keeping her eyes on the wet, uneven pavement. She makes it a point not to look in the direction of the blue building diagonal from the animal shelter, though her skin prickles, knowing it's there.

After she puts the car in park, she holds her hand out, holding her breath and willing him to take it so that she can see if what happened in her apartment was a fluke. He stares at it as if it's some variety of sea urchin, before giving a sigh of exasperation and reaching over with his good hand.

" _I have to go and help make candles for the Miners' Festival,"_ She explains, watching him intently for a reaction. His eyebrows rise slightly, indicating that he has, indeed, heard her. Her body relaxes slightly. _"You attempted suicide last night, Captain. I cannot, in good faith as a nun to be, allow you to be alone when you are a risk to yourself."_

"What, and you think that these people will gladly accept me spending the day with their lot?" His blue eyes are full of cynicism as he sneers.

" _Dr. Thatcher is a good man. He'll show you the same respect you show him,"_ She assures him, letting go of his hand and getting out of the car. Lucy hears his derisive snort and rolls her eyes, shoving her hands into her pockets. He pauses after shutting the door for a moment, and she wonders if he's going to give her trouble, but that same tired defeat is still present in his eyes, lingering, and he follows her. She feels a twinge of pity for the man, even if he has been a villain for the better part of three centuries. Here, he is just a man…and a man missing a hand at that.

Dr. Thatcher eyes Hook suspiciously when they come into the shelter, but to his credit, he manages to smile kindly at the man he knows to be a dangerous criminal. Lucy considers for a brief moment, taking the vet's hand and seeing if he too can hear her, but she suspects not, so she withdraws her notepad and scrawls down her message.

_This is my friend. He's in need of employ until he can find his place here. Can he spend the day with you?_

Upon reading, Dr. Thatcher looks up at Hook warily, folding his arms and sizing him up. His eyes fall to the arm that's missing its usual adornment. He finally glances at Lucy, who simply adopts a wide eyed innocent look. The vet raises an eyebrow knowingly, but is unable to hide his sudden smile. He knows her too well.

"You are a clever girl, Miss Lucy," He chuckles, sobering and returning his eyes to the scowling man beside her. "We just got a stray in," He explains gently, "He's not in a good place. He's got heart worm and some dermatitis from flea bites."

"And what am I to do for that?" Hook asks snidely, glancing sideways at Lucy, who gives him a look of warning.

"We need to get him to take his heart worm pill and eat some food. He's bones," Dr. Thatcher says, wincing slightly, "But I think, with some love, he'll be just fine."

"Sometimes, love isn't enough," Hook retorts cruelly, though the hard look on his face has fallen some as his eyes flit toward the door into the kennels.

"Sometimes though, it _is_ ," Thatcher counters calmly, winking at Lucy, who feels her face become very hot all of a sudden. She reaches out to touch Hook's hand, making him start.

" _I will be here to pick you up around three."_ She observes him closely, noticing the slight nod he gives in acknowledgment. Beaming at the veterinarian, she mouths, 'Thank you,' before giving Hook one last look of warning and leaving the building. She makes a mental note to visit with the new dog later and give him a kiss behind the ears.

This shelter has become a place of comfort for her, since she's been living in constant isolation. She doesn't really make it a point to have friends, though it's tempting to walk by Granny's night after night, seeing people grouped together at tables, clinking their glasses together and laughing. It's been a long time since she's laughed. She thinks of her sisters, and hopes that all of them are safe and happy. Her eyes burn as her guilt gnaws at her gut, knowing that she's the reason that they don't have their father with them anymore.

The rain has reverted to a dull drizzle as she steps out onto the wet concrete. Her eyes fall on the building across the street from the Pet Shelter, making her chest ache as she thinks of the man who owns it, undoubtedly sitting at his desk as he tries to figure out where in Storybrooke his youngest child might be. He doesn't know that the woman he's lived with is the same woman who stole his daughter's voice.

The same woman who stole his freedom.

Ted Morgan doesn't realize that his wife Octavia is really Vanessa. Triton doesn't realize that Vanessa is really Ursula. And neither of them know that their daughter has been less than a mile from him, ensconced with the nuns of Storybrooke, Maine. And it's better that way, really. Because Lucy knows she's caused both Ted and Triton enough pain, and no amount of time with nuns will ever change the fact that she made a horrible mistake and defied the only man who ever truly loved her.

Her father.

"Ev'ryt'ing alright dere, miss?" A voice comes from behind her, ringing vaguely familiar in her ear, though how, she cannot place. Sniffing, she feverishly wipes beneath her eyes and nods, embarrassed that a stranger has seen her moment of weakness. Smoothing her plaited, wet hair, she turns to face the dark skinned man. She doesn't know his face, but his dark, kind eyes widen when he sees her. He's wearing a red polo shirt with a name tag that reads 'Sam.' His gasp is loud and immediate and he rushes toward her, making her back up in fear. "Ah-riel?" And then it's clear to her who he is and she shakes her head fiercely, turning and darting toward her car before he can say anything else. "'E's been lookin' for ya for months, child!" He calls after her, but she ignores him, getting into the old car. She peels away from the curb, unable to look in the rearview mirror as she flees, panic thrumming in her chest.

She cannot allow herself to be found if she wants to protect her father. Octavia cannot know that she's here or she will use her against him. Again.

Lucy is still shaking as she walks into the church, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip. She nearly knocks over a nearby woman, who cries out as she stumbles.

"Lucy! Heavens, child, I didn't see you!" Astrid exclaims, patting her shoulder affectionately. "I'm just heading out to hang the lights." She gives an apologetic smile and hurries out the door, lights in hand. Lucy turns back to the doorway into the room where the others are making candles and finds herself standing before Mother Superior.

"Lucy," She sighs resignedly, looking at another nun and telling her to keep an eye on things, "Come with me, dear. We must have a talk."

' _Have I done something wrong?'_ She writes quickly, showing the woman. Her eyes are full of pity, but she doesn't negate the question. Instead, she takes a slow breath, putting an arm around Lucy's slim shoulders.

"Of course not, Lucy," Mother Superior assures her, "But, I am concerned. Leroy was here earlier and he said that he spoke with John from the marina. He told us that you've taken in the pirate. Is this true?" Lucy's stomach drops, her nerves prickling, but she finds the will to nod.

' _He tried to kill himself last night. I couldn't let him. I feel sorry for him.'_

"You shouldn't," Mother Superior responds coldly, "He needs to atone for the sins he's committed against everyone in this town. He's trouble, Lucy. I have to insist that you send him on his way." Lucy has to steel herself against the swell of indignation at the coldness of this woman, who is supposed to be a beacon of compassion. She's learned, since the curse was broken, that though the fairies do good, they aren't exactly the sweetest creatures she's known. Everything they do is for the greater good, regardless of who they hurt in the process. Bristling, Lucy scrawls down her response.

' _With all due respect, Mother Superior, I feel it was my duty as both a nun and a civilian to save that man. It is not up to me to judge him for his wrongdoings.'_

Mother Superior's eyes soften, and she sighs sadly, reaching out to touch Lucy's shoulder. "Dear, sweet Lucy," She murmurs resignedly, "you are not meant for this life. You never have been. I don't know who you were back in our land, but you don't belong with us. We took you in because you needed a place to go, but you haven't needed our protection for a long time, dear. You're strong now."

' _Are you firing me?'_ Her eyes are already full of tears, because she knows the answer to this.

"I am giving you the chance to be free," She responds. "I can't tell you how to live your life or whom to trust, Lucy. But please take my humble advice. That man is using you. He has no love in his heart. Please do not fall prey to him. He is not to be trusted." She pulls out a piece of paper with the photo of a young girl on it. Lucy winces, recognizing her own smiling face. "Look," Mother Superior continues, "These have been put up all over town. I've ignored them out of respect for your feelings and your privacy. But someone out there loves you. And, if I've learned anything from that horrid curse, it's that time is precious. And you shouldn't take it for granted."

' _Is this because of Hook?'_

Mother Superior shakes her head, taking Lucy's hand. "This is because it's time for you to face your past. You aren't a nun or a fairy. But you're somebody who needs to find her own path. I've spoken with Sheriff Swan. She's in need of some filing help. She said the job is yours if you want it." She gives Lucy a business card. "Think about it." Lucy stares blindly at the business card, unseeing through her tears. Vaguely, she feels Mother Superior's arm wrap around her shoulders. "I know you think I'm punishing you, but Lucy, we both know this life isn't what you truly want. It's been a means for you to hide, and that's no way to live. Go, meet a nice boy. Settle down. Have babies." Lucy winces, but allows herself to be pulled into a warm hug. Her mind is adrift with memories of two different lives, both of which had been tragic. Both of which had ended badly for her. She wonders, for just a moment, what she ever did to Queen Regina to make her hate her.

To her credit, the mayor of Storybrooke has been improving upon herself. She helped to defeat her mother and lock her away, effectively saving the town from Cora's wrath. She's been working with Emma Swan to make improvements in the town, fixing up the library and building a high school for the children who are now outgrowing their childish youth and becoming young adults. Though the mayor has been a bit of a recluse lately, she is trying…and that's something. That's better than the utter deception that is Octavia Morgan. No one suspects that beneath her well dressed, dark haired exterior, she's nothing but an evil witch with tentacles.

Not even Lucy's father suspects that he's married to his own worst enemy. It keeps her up at night, wondering why Octavia hasn't revealed herself as Ursula to Ted. Wondering what Ursula is planning. It's no use wondering right now. She says a quick goodbye to Mother Superior and flees to the haven of her car, allowing herself to break down once she's seated behind the wheel.

* * *

The dog is a mess. Well, that's an understatement. The dog has been shaved, but Killian _thinks_ it used to be a sheepdog. The poor, pathetic creature has red blotches all over its pink, abused skin and his ribs are prominent, but his dark eyes are bright with personality and his sad little tail wags at the sight of him.

Killian has never considered himself a weak person. He's rebelled against every warning his conscience has had the bad sense to give him. He'd struck off on his own as a young man and swore to himself that he would never become like his father…a heartless creature with no compassion. The years, no doubt, had changed him. Life for a man of questionable morals was hard enough. Life for a good man was near impossible. The world was corrupt, and at the end of the day, self preservation had led Killian to follow in his father's footsteps to piracy. His mother had died of the sweating sickness when he'd barely been sixteen.

So naturally, it surprises him when his eyes burn at the sight of this wretched, innocent creature standing before him, a victim of human cruelty and neglect. He turns away from it, angry with himself for caring and with Lucy for forcing him to come here and endure this. He's committed his share of sins, undoubtedly, but for some reason, the sight of one sick dog makes him want to curl into a ball and sob.

"Rough, isn't he?" Thatcher's voice comes from beside him. "He came from the outside. Cross the border. People keep talking about wanting to go explore this world, but from what I can tell, this world is not very welcoming."

"Is any?" Killian challenges, scowling and folding his arms across his chest, leaning against the counter in the room. A whimper turns his head and he sees the dog sitting beside him, looking expectantly up at him.

"He likes you," Thatcher observes with clear surprise in his voice, "If you can get him to eat, I'll let you name him." Killian has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

"What makes you think I care anything about this creature?" He asks, glaring at the vet. Maddeningly, the doctor smiles.

"Because he clearly cares for you," Thatcher explains gently, "I've seen many animals in my time, and I can tell you that an animal who has received such poor care should, in theory, be afraid of someone who doesn't care for them. But he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. He senses some good in you, deep as you may have buried it. That's got to count for something."

The vet leaves and Killian internally curses Lucy for dropping her here into this cage so that he couldn't cause any trouble. As if he would at this point. As if being defeated in front of the entire population of this godsforsaken town wasn't enough humiliation. Now, he had to be put to work like a common farm hand. He jumps when he feels something cold and wet on his arm and realizes that the dog is trying to make him pet him. Sighing in irritation, Killian rubs gently behind the dog's ears and shakes his head.

"You should know, I'm only doing this so the flame haired chit doesn't send me off to the Sheriff," He tells the dog moodily, forgetting momentarily that he only has one hand to work with at the moment. "Come on then," He tells the dog resignedly, "I suppose I'd better get you to eat. Y'know, if you were one of my crew, I'd probably force you to eat with threat of deck cleaning duty." The dog gives a small bark of approval in response, which only serves to put Killian in a worse mood as he finds the bowl with some sort of disgusting looking dry brown biscuits in it. "Well no bloody wonder you don't want to eat," He scoffs, turning up his nose, "That food looks bloody awful. I wouldn't eat it either." He sets the food on the ground and watches as the dog sniffs it, then looks up at Killian again. "It's good for you?" He offers sardonically, turning toward the cupboards to try and find something more appealing when he sees someone come into the room out of the corner of his eye. Instinct makes him reach for a sword that isn't there.

A dark skinned man in a red polo shirt is standing near the door with his arms up in surrender. "Forgive de intrusion," He says in a heavy accent, "De doctor said you could help me."

"Help you? With what?" Killian asks suspiciously, petting the dog's head to calm him.

"Dat girl who was here wit you earlier," The man says, "what was her name?"

"What do you want with her?" He demands to know, glaring at the stranger.

"My name is Sam Clawson. De man I work for is her father," The man responds, "'E's been lookin' for her since de curse broke."

"No offense, but don't you think if Lucy wanted a reunion with her father, she would have gone to him?" Killian points out, "I don't think she wants to be found, mate."

"Can you just give 'er a message from me?" Sam asks worriedly. Slowly, Killian nods. "Can ya just tell 'er dat if she wants to talk, I'm 'ere for her?" He steps forward and produces a small piece of paper. "My number is on it. When she's ready, she can call me."

"I'll give it to her, but no guarantees," Killian agrees reluctantly, pocketing it. As he watches the man leave, he debates whether or not he's actually going to give Lucy the information, but decides to decide later. The sound of quiet crunching catches his attention, and he realizes that the dog is eating. It's a strange feeling that spreads through him, his entire chest feels warm…almost uncomfortably so. It's been so long since anything made him feel, well… _anything._ He doesn't like it. In fact, he hates it. He hates that he still has compassion. He hates how that dog looks at him like he trusts him implicitly, even though the dog knows nothing of who he is or what he's done. He hates that he feels completely vulnerable to this pitiful creature with the blotchy skin and uneven fur. He hates that ever time that red haired girl looks at him, he feels naked and unarmed; like she can see right through his eyes into his soul. He _hates_ that she saved him last night. But the worst of it is, he hates that he's grateful for it because, as miserable as his life is (and it _is_ miserable), he'd rather be here alive, hating life, than at the bottom of the ocean, rotting.

But most of all, he just hates himself.

Killian sinks to sit on the floor with his back against the wall, watching the dog carefully eat his meal. He thinks of Milah, long gone now. She's probably nothing but dust anymore, which really hurts. What would she think of him now? He'd sought revenge for her death and had nearly forgotten his promise to her when she'd run away with him.

" _Killian, I may not love Rumple any longer, but I do love my son. Please promise me that no matter what comes of my marriage with him, that no harm will come to Bae at the hands of you or your crew."_

Of course he'd promised. He'd have done anything for Milah. He'd been willing to die for her. And he had kept that promise to the best of his knowledge. Until he'd gone to Neverland and that blasted boy and his band of little friends had decided it was up to them to fight the big, bad pirates. He hadn't even known it was Milah's boy until the child had cut Hook's sleeve and had seen the tattoo of her name and had reeled away. That was when recognition had set in and he'd put it all together. The boy who had adopted the name Peter Pan was really Milah's Bae. And now he was grown with his own boy.

And Milah was still gone.

Something soft pushes against Killian's arm and he notices the dog has finished his meal and has returned to his side, curling up on the floor next to him. Sighing in frustration and defeat, Killian curses under his breath and puts his hand on the dog's shaved head, frowning at the painful looking red patch of skin beneath the gray fur. Silent fury wells in his chest at the sudden urge to punch whomever did this to the poor animal. It makes him cringe, because he'd once struck a woman. It hadn't been his proudest moment, but he'd been desperate. He swore to himself that it wouldn't ever happen again.

He would not be his father.

* * *

Lucy parked in front of the animal shelter in the same spot she'd parked that morning, but this time, she made sure no one was around before she got out of her car. Since being essentially fired that morning, she'd gone home and put on her only pair of jeans and a sweater and had taken her long hair out of the meticulously pinned chignon, letting it fall in heavy waves to her waist. It was strange to see her reflection and not see the demure blue habit that the nuns wear here. It was a girl she didn't recognize anymore. Modest nun had become an eighteen year old girl again.

It seems like a lifetime ago when her favorite past time was swimming to the surface and breaking through the waves to feel the sun on her face even though her father had forbidden it. Once upon a time, her father had feared the land, and the people who resided there. He had always raved about fisherman and how humans were barbarians. How ironic that her father now owned an aquarium. If nothing else, Queen Regina certainly has a sense of humor, twisted though it may be.

Pulling her knitted winter hat more securely over her auburn waves, she hurries into the pet shelter, bracing herself for the fallout of bringing Hook here for the day. Instead, she finds Dr. Thatcher chatting easily with one of the volunteers when she walks in. He looks up, smiling in her direction and waving her over. She quickly writes on her notepad.

' _Did everything go all right?'_

Dr. Thatcher nods, and his eyes are twinkling with something akin to mischief as he leads her toward the back room, where new arrivals are kept when they're brought in until they're ready to interact with other animals. Lucy doesn't know what she expects to find through those doors, but she isn't quite prepared for the reality of it. Sitting on the floor, near the cage is an empty bowl of food, some discarded dog toys and Hook, sitting Indian style with a dog half lying in his lap, asleep.

"Don't think anything of it," Hook says moodily, "The blasted animal just crawled up into my lap and trapped me into—" He cuts off at the sight of Lucy, staring at her with a furrowed brow as if he's forgotten what he was going to say. She notices the pupils in his eyes dilate slightly, before he clears his throat and gently sets the dog down onto the fleece blanket set up over the floor. Dr. Thatcher has quietly left already, shutting the door behind him as Hook approaches her. She notices he walks like a hunter stalking prey. There is a strange, intimidating beauty to it, but Mother Superior's words ring in her head.

_That man is using you. He has no love in his heart. Please do not fall prey to him. He is not to be trusted._

"You look…different," He finally says, standing toe to toe with her. She smirks, despite her nerves and takes his hand, feeling a twinge of fear that he won't hear her anymore.

' _I got fired.'_

She watches his eyebrows raise in surprise, blue eyes gleaming as he chuckles. "What could a quiet thing like you have possibly done to get fired by the nuns?" Before she can respond, however, the smile leaves his face and he sobers. She feels a twinge of disappointment that the moment has been ruined. "It was because of me, wasn't it?" When she doesn't answer immediately, he curses, making her wince. "Bloody judgmental fairy. I have half a mind to go—"

' _Killian, it was not because of you.'_ Lucy cuts him off quickly, sighing. _'My father has been looking for me. She told me I don't belong with the fairies when there's someone out there who loves me. It wasn't because of you. Okay?'_ He only stares at her with hard eyes for a few moments, and she notices a slight tick in his jaw, just beneath the light stubble there. The oddest urge to ghost her finger over the spot and soothe his tension comes over her, but she ignores it, glad she's let go of him for the moment. If he had seen it, she may have died of embarrassment.

"A man came in here earlier looking for you," He admits, relaxing slightly. "Do you know a Sam Clawson?" Lucy's stomach drops, remembering her encounter that morning with the man outside. 'Sam'. "I'll take that as a yes," Hook sighs, "Tell me straight love," he continues wearily, "life here isn't any easier…is it?" She shakes her head, mind flying as she wars with her feelings. Tiredly, she takes his hand.

' _Come on, let's go to Granny's for dinner. I could use a cheeseburger.'_

"What's a cheeseburger?"

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

If there are any redeeming qualities about this land, cheeseburgers definitely are one of them. Killian is sure he’s never tasted anything so good, marveling at the burst of flavor in the tender, grilled meat. It’s almost enough to make him ignore the smug little smirk that his companion has on her lovely face. He cannot imagine what he looks like to her right now, eating with one hand a food that requires both hands, but he doesn’t care. If he had to choose between bedding the siren or eating a cheeseburger at the moment, he’d choose the cheeseburger.

 

Bloody hell, it’s been a long time since he’s lain with a woman.

 

When he’s finished, he licks his fingers, noticing her cheeks turn a becoming shade of pink. It makes his lips quirk up in amusement. “Apologies, love. When one only has one hand, one must be…innovative.” He gives her a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. She surprises him by snorting in response, though he notices she too is fighting a grin. “Your hair looks very fetching like that,” he adds, meeting her eyes, “Much better than that prim and proper plaited disaster that made you look like a spinster.” Her ocean green-blue eyes narrow on him, and she raises one eyebrow in response, pointing a warning finger at him before reaching across the table to steal one of his French fries…another delightful perk of this world. Teasingly, he swats her hand away. “Oi! Get your own, lovely!” She’s too quick for him and manages to snatch one, triumphantly eating it and snickering to herself.

 

The smile immediately leaves Killian’s face, however, when he notices the Sheriff, her father and the man who was The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up coming toward their table. Pan. Baelfire. Cassidy. Whatever the hell he went by nowadays. Lucy follows his eyes, giving him a questioning look.

 

“A complication,” he mutters, bracing himself.

 

“Everything alright here?” Emma asks politely, giving Lucy a smile. “Relax Hook,” she chuckles, “I’m not here to arrest you. I believe that score has already been settled.” Her eyes fall on Lucy. “I’m actually here to talk to you. I hope you don’t mind, but Mother Superior gave me your name and—“ Lucy cut her off by shaking her head and gesturing for her to continue. “She told me about your situation – sorry about that, by the way – but, I figure, I need some help around the office. David and I are crap at organization.” She winks at the blond man.

 

“Family trait,” he adds dryly.

 

“Anyway,” Emma laughs, “I needed someone, and you were recommended. It’s not much, but we offer dental.” Hook watches Lucy smile, though she looks slightly terrified, but nods anyway, pulling out her notepad. He’s known her less than twenty-four hours, but something about that notepad makes him angry. Perhaps it’s watching her reactions and then having to write her responses down, but it makes him want to break something, punch someone. Something. Apparently, Lucy accepts the offer, because it’s settled that Lucy will start work the following Monday. Killian notices someone watching him out of the corner of his eye and avoids looking at said watcher.

 

“It’s rude to stare, Pan,” he mutters, picking at the remnants of his fries and glowering at his crumbs.

 

“You look like hell,” comes the deep voice, barely containing his chuckle.

 

“Yes well, I suppose I’ve earned it,” He concedes, “How is domestic life treating you?” He asks acidly, giving Emma a fervent glance. She makes a noise of irritation, but cannot hide her smirk.

 

“You’re a piece of work, Hook,” she tells him, “You know that, right?”

 

“I’ve been called worse,” Killian shrugs, winking at her. Suddenly, the Sheriff has him by the collar and is glaring into his eyes with her perceptive hazel irises.

 

“Listen to me, Buddy,” She says quietly, “You do anything to hurt this girl and I will make sure you can never get it up again. Got it?” Killian’s pulse quickens, but he nods, watching her carefully.

 

“Ems,” Pan cuts in, looking between the two of them as if he’s not sure whether he should interfere or not.

 

“I can fight my own battles,” Killian tells him moodily, falling back as Emma lets go of him.

 

“Clearly,” Pan replies, grinning cheekily at him. It’s the same mischievous look he used to get on his face during their encounters in Neverland. Another lifetime. Another land.

 

“Get what up?” Another (much younger) voice comes from behind them. Emma cringes slightly, turning to her nearly twelve year old son.

 

“Nothing,” She answers swiftly, sharing an exasperated look with her father, who only shakes his head. “Nevermind. Let’s go grab Ruby.” Glancing back over her shoulder at Killian, she inserts, “I meant what I said, Hook. You hurt her, I will make your life a living hell.” They all start away, while Killian feels his blood boil in retaliation.

 

“Too late!” He growls, though she’s already too far away to hear him. A hand covers his, making him look up to see Lucy shaking her head.

 

_‘They’re just doing their job, Killian.’_

“Damned power hungry royals, the lot of them,” He spits, hating the pitying look in her eyes as she squeezes her hand. Annoyed, he pulls his hand back as their waitress, Ruby, returns. To her credit, she attempts to be friendly with both of them, but he can’t help but notice the sideways glance she gives.

 

“Any dessert for you two?” She asks. Killian does not answer her, looking out the window instead, but sees Lucy writing something down, showing it to Ruby when she’s done. The dark haired woman smiles and gives her an affectionate nod. “I’ll be right back with—“ She lets out a shriek of surprise as a hand wraps around her waist. Turning to face her intruder, whom Killian recognizes as the physician from the hospital, her shriek turns to one of excitement. “Hey you!” She grins, kissing the man on the lips. “You’re early…”

 

“It was a fairly simple diagnosis,” he chuckles, pulling Ruby closer and making Killian look skyward in exhaustion. Lucy gives him a warning look, shaking her head again.   

 

“How is Snow?” Ruby asks, concerned. The doctor smiles wryly.

 

“In shock, but healthy,” He laughs, nodding toward the door, where the dark haired young woman had just come in. “Go ask her. It’s not my news to tell.” The pair leaves, and a few moments later, loud cries and exclamations of excitement can be heard throughout the restaurant. Killian looks pleadingly at Lucy, begging her to let them leave this place full of happy people and their silly, sugary lives. She shakes her head, giving him a cheeky grin. Something about Lucy Morgan disarms him, making him want to smile back, and Killian Jones _hates_ that. He hates that every time he sees her eyes that remind him of the ocean he loves so dearly, that he feels lighter and heavier at the same time. Lucy makes him _feel_. In the past twelve hours with her, he’s felt more than he’s felt in two centuries. And he doesn’t want it. He is perfectly fine being a numb shell with nothing in his heart but revenge.

 

And then, there’s the dog. That wretched, abused dog with no home and no one who loves him, leaving Killian ashamed to say he feels sorry for that animal.

 

_Love is weakness._

Cora has said that time and again to him, mocking him for his attachment to Milah. Then again, Cora’s lack of love has landed her in a magically sealed vault beneath the town, so really, how smart can she be? The only reason Killian is still free is because of Emma Swan’s belief that there is good in him. He isn’t particularly fond of her at the moment either, meddling Princess Sheriff.

 

“Okay,” Ruby has returned, beaming warmly at Lucy, “two hot fudge sundaes with extra cherries.” Her eyes shift to Killian warningly. “Enjoy,” she tells them, though there is a certain frosty tone in her voice. Killian stares blankly at the confection before him, unsure of whether he should attempt to eat or climb it. Lucy jabs a pointed finger in the direction of his spoon and gestures for him to eat, obviously garnering high amusement from his confusion. Glaring at her, he snatches the spoon off of the table and stabs the ‘sundae’ as Ruby had called it, scooping a bit of the pliant white goo covered in what appeared to be some sort of chocolate. He gives Lucy a suspicious look, sniffing the concoction and watching as she rolls her eyes at him, already halfway finished with hers. It’s cold and wet, but smells oddly appealing. Sighing in defeat, he shovels the spoon into his mouth and is greeted with possibly the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He glances up in surprise, meeting Lucy’s laughing green eyes across the table. She nods knowingly, and the pair continues in contented silence, consuming their treats. Killian has had cake before, a few fortunate times in his life. But never has he encountered this cold, sweet, creamy delight in his life. More than a few wicked things run through his mind as he envisions eating it off the smooth skin of a woman.

 

Bloody _hell_ , it’s been a long time since he’s lain with a woman.

 

And then there’s the matter that the smallest dab of whipped cream remains on the corner of his companion’s full, bow shaped lips, taunting him. He’s just about to say something when the tip of her tongue absently flicks at it, cleaning it off and setting every damned nerve in his overwrought body on fire. Clenching his jaw, he glowers into the soupy mess of his sundae and eats it until there’s nothing left but a small pool of cream in the bottom of the dish.

 

If he had a left fist to clench, he would.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Killian is silent on the drive back to the apartment, his mood gone sour for some reason that he refuses to reveal. She’s decided not to worry herself with it, instead focusing her efforts on coming to terms with her new life direction. In the span of one day, she overcame her fear of the ocean, rescued a man from drowning and got fired from being a nun. There was also the slight matter of Sam Clawson finding her. She wonders if he’s told Ted yet that he saw her this morning, but she already knows he has. Sam has always been unfailingly loyal to his boss…and to her. She bites her bottom lip, aching because she misses her best friend. The two years after Eric’s death had been so horribly lonely…and then the subsequent twenty-eight years of the curse had been just as bad in a different way. It’s hard to tell which she preferred. Either way, she’s still cursed. Perhaps if magic hadn’t come to Storybrooke after the curse broke, she may have been able to talk, but she’s skeptical. It’s been so long since she’s heard the sound of her own voice; she doesn’t even remember how it sounds. It’s so sickeningly, unbearably tempting to go to her father and reveal herself, but she’s afraid of what Octavia might do to them if she discovers Lucy’s whereabouts.

 

“What’re _you_ so glum for?” Killian asks with a scowl, watching her. She shakes her head immediately, forcing a smile onto her face and shrugging as she touches his hand.

 

_‘Just tired.’_ She assures him, looking back toward the road and praying she’s not too obvious, though she can still feel his eyes on her.

 

“Lucy,” He finally says in a different, weary voice, “I’m going to find my own place to stay. I shouldn’t be staying with you.” She turns to him, surprised.

 

_‘Afraid of a little gossip, are you?’_ She smiles playfully, though she knows she isn’t convincing.

“You and I both know that I am not welcome in this town,” He mutters. “And I don’t need to be owing you anymore than I already do.” Lucy tightens her grip on his hand as if this will convey her message better.

 

_‘Killian, you owe me nothing. I have no one else in this town. You’re not interfering with anything in my life. Just stay. At least until you find your place.’_

“I’m no good for you, love,” He sighs, resting his head against the seat. “You have a family looking for you. People who wouldn’t approve of your cavorting with a filthy pirate villain.”

 

_‘Oh stop being a martyr,”_ Lucy shakes her head, smirking, _‘Though you do have a point with the filthy thing. Perhaps a shower when we get home?’_

“Home,” Killian answers gruffly, though she detects a wistful undertone in his voice, feeling a slight pang in her chest to reach out to him, which is absurd. He doesn’t even _like_ her as far as she can tell. For all she knows, he’s plotting to rob her blind and leave. But Lucy knows in her heart that’s not true. As awful as Hook would love to pretend to be, she can’t help but think maybe all he really needs is to learn how to be human again. If Belle can take on Mr. Gold, why can’t Killian Jones be saved too? She knows she’s being a bit irrational, but thirty-one years alone will do that to a person.

 

Lucy puts the car into park and pauses before looking over at Killian, who is watching her expectantly, bemused. She stares at him, unblinking, afraid that the tears in her eyes will fall and betray her desperation, biting her lower lip to hid the slight tremor and keep her face from crumpling.

 

“Lucy…” His voice is different now. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was frightened. Making a noise of irritation, he reaches across the front seat and takes her by the shoulders. “Come on, lass…you can’t. I’m not a comforting sort.” She sniffs, unable to keep it back any longer and begins to silently weep, letting out almost thirty-one years of grief. Grief for her mother, father and sisters. Grief for Eric. Grief for Sebastian. And maybe just a tiny bit left over for herself. “You really don’t want to be alone, do you?” Hook asks, studying her curiously, though he does not pull her any closer or soften his voice. He’s right. He is not a comforting sort. But, Lucy doesn’t need to be coddled. She just needs to be heard. And that’s what this is. Killian is the first person who has heard her in _thirty_ years. “I see,” he says, hearing her thoughts. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, love. Trapped inside your own mind. Watching everyone else enjoy their lives.”

 

_‘Please,’_ She begs, despite her best efforts not to, _‘Don’t leave. Not yet. Just stay with me a little while.’_

“Lucy,” His voice is not harsh, but it is not particularly kid either. “You don’t know what kind of a person I am. The things I’ve done.”

 

_‘You don’t know the things I’ve done either,’_ She challenges, wiping fruitlessly at her eyes. _‘It’s my fault.’_

“Darling, I’m not a priest. Nor do I have any right to judge your sins,” He nods toward the apartment building, “Now, shall we go inside where it’s warm and dry or sit out here in this contraption you drive waiting for the snow to get heavier?”

 

_‘Does this mean you’ll stay?’_

 

“For now,” He allows, nodding reluctantly before letting go of her hand and opening his door. She composes herself and does the same, glancing around at the heavy falling snow. It’s beautiful and serene. Before she’d come to this realm, she had never seen snow or ice. As Lucy, she hadn’t appreciated the beauty of it. Now, with Ariel’s memories back, she could stare in wonder at the simplicity of the flakes languidly drifting to the ground and covering the world in diamonds. She thinks of her closest sister, Alana, and wonders what she is doing right this moment. Is she happy? Is she sitting at her vanity and brushing her hair a hundred times before bed as usual?

 

Is Attina putting her baby daughter to bed and singing the same melody that Athena used to sing to them when they were young?

 

Is Aquata compulsively following the younger girls around, picking up after them and being the mother they still desperately need?

 

Is Andrina still outswimming the boys and cracking inappropriate jokes at their expense?

 

Is Arista still obsessed with boys and stealing everything from jewelry to hair combs from her sisters?

 

Is Adella planning her wedding to Percy and picking out flower arrangements?

 

“Lucy?” Killian’s voice echo’s through the tranquility of the winter night and she takes a deep breath, pushing it from her mind again. She nods to him, glancing back one more time and imagining she can see them all, smiling. She needs to believe that somewhere, they are safe and happy. Lucy has to believe that there is still good in the world, any world. Which is why she has to put her faith in Killian Jones.  Because anything is better than nothing…

 

Isn’t it?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Killian is surprised when he finds that Lucy has seen about getting him some new clothes. More of the hideous denim and flannel shirts. The strangest of the lot, however, are the brown work boots. Neither of them acknowledges the fact that they’ve been thrown together somehow, connected by some tenuous phenomenon. They share a look. Just one brief, meeting of eyes that says everything.

 

He doesn’t like what he sees there, in her light ocean aqua eyes, because it reminds him off himself. He sees sadness. Loss. But there is also something that he hasn’t seen in a very long time. Something that he hasn’t _felt_ since Milah’s heart was crushed and she died in his arms.

 

Hope.

 

Lucy is hope. And that terrifies him, because he doesn’t want to feel that. He doesn’t _want_ to feel again. The first time he’d lost hope had nearly killed him. He can’t risk it again. It keeps him up that night, lying on the sofa and staring at the shadows on the walls as he hates himself for wondering if she’s alright in the next room. He tries. He _really_ tries not to care. He doesn’t _want_ to think about her brilliant auburn hair or porcelain skin.

 

Lucy is nothing like Milah. She’s smaller, more delicate. But more than that, Milah had been married, had a child by the time Killian had met her. She’d lived her youth. Lucy is purity itself. She is a guileless creature who is made of pure light. And that is the exact reason why Killian has to leave her be, because he will ruin her if she allows him to remain in her life. He isn’t sure how, but he somehow gets up off of the sofa and creeps toward her open bedroom door. The silvery light from the streetlamp outside is streaming through her blinds, giving just enough light to illuminate her pale face. She looks like a little girl lying there with her face unmarred by stress or guilt. He cannot stop himself from crossing to her bed and gazing down at her, conflicted by his own emotions and his conscience. Killian cannot do anything but give in as he trails a gentle finger over her smooth cheek, feeling his brows furrow and his jaw tighten. He tries to remember her as a mermaid, but comes up blank. Undoubtedly, she had been magnificent. That idiot of a prince deserved what he’d gotten for not choosing her.

 

But then again, who was Killian to judge that prince? How was the prince different from Milah, who had chosen him? Why had it been right for that prince to die when he’d only made his choice, same as Milah? Who was Killian to judge anyone? He, who had fought children and wielded revenge on innocent people. He, who had stolen a woman from her husband and child?

 

He knew he had to leave Lucy alone, if not for her own good, then for his. It had been bad enough for him to love the first time. A second would be tempting fate. He will leave. He _will_ be the better person and let her go for the greater good. Soon.

 

Killian is gone before Lucy is awake, deciding that a long walk through the frigid air is just what he needs to clear his mind. He doesn’t mind the cold. It’s refreshing in a way, making him feel almost free. He is amazed by the way he can see his own breath as he walks. Dr. Thatcher is already at the pet shelter when he arrives, numb but awake as he enters the warmth of the building. The man smiles at the sight of him.

 

“Well, well…you came back,” the man muses pleasantly.

 

“It seems, my friend, that our little Miss Lucy is quite the little manipulator,” He answers curtly, though his lips twitch slightly upward, threatening a smile.

 

“She’s good, that one,” Thatcher agrees, chuckling and nodding toward the room where the sheepdog is being kept. “Someone has been waiting at the door ever since you left last evening.” Killian attempts to ignore the speed of his pulse as his eyes flit toward the double doors, unable to find it in himself to scowl. The second the doors open, he is knocked onto the floor by a blur of white and gray.

 

“Argh, you wretched cur,” He groans, laughing despite himself as he sits up, pushing the dog off of him and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I see you’re feeling better.” The dog barks, wagging his sad little nub of a tail enthusiastically. “I see…” He says, answering whatever question the animal was asking him and looking up around the room for the treat jar, noticing a poster on the wall.

 

_HELP ANIMALS TO THE MAX BY VOLUNTEERING._

“Hmmm,” Killian murmurs, walking toward it and letting his fingertips rest atop the dog’s soft head. “Y’know pup,” He comments, looking down at the creature, “I think I just may have found you a name.” The dog seems to understand him, quirking an ear upward in dubiously. He crouches before the dog and scratches carefully behind his ear. “What would you say about…Max?”

 

Max’s only response is to slobber all over Killian’s face…again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
